


A Sort of Fairy Tale

by misslucyjane



Category: CW Network RPF, Supernatural RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-01
Updated: 2010-05-26
Packaged: 2017-11-06 01:47:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 17,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/413374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misslucyjane/pseuds/misslucyjane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Misha loves Jensen. Jensen is ... getting there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Story I Haven't Heard Yet

**Author's Note:**

> Every year for 14 Valentines I resolve to post something every day, and every year I fall short. This year I'm approaching it differently: I'm going to post one story in 14 parts, one part every day, inspired by 14 songs.
> 
> Thank you to Skidmo for beta.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Oh, there are bad chords. Chords that will drive you mad or bite your fingers. But you don't play those chords. You're better than that."

Jensen is like a straight road to all Misha's speed bumps and curves. He is a solid bass line to Misha's trills and descants. He is the Broadway Boogie-Woogie to Misha's Blue Poles.

He is fascinating. He is simple. He is amazing.

This must be why he figures so prominently in Misha's daydreams, why Misha concocts these elaborate stories about them that he tells no one. Sometimes they are political prisoners comforting each other with stories of home. Sometimes they are bohemian artists living in a garret in Paris—Paris must be made entirely of garrets, given all the bohemian artists who live in them—living on love and cheap red wine. Sometimes they are truckers, partners, driving from one side of the country to the other and making love in the sleeping compartment. Sometimes they are just two leaves on a tree, waiting for autumn to make them fall.

Sometimes, Misha has to admit, they are Dean and Cas. Not the Dean and Cas on TV, not the stoic angel, the snarky hunter. Instead they are the Dean and Cas between scenes, after the credits roll; the Dean and Cas who turn to each other for comfort and sex, the Cas whom Dean feeds cherry pie, the Dean to whom Castiel says, "I fell for you. I'm still falling for you. I'll fall for you until you catch me."

(Misha admits to himself that this line would be edited out of any script, and rightly so.)

***

They rehearse a scene where Castiel is supposed to lean on Dean. Instead, Jensen leans on Misha, swaying on his feet a little. Sleeping on his feet like a horse, Misha thinks. He holds Jensen and tells him a story, whispered in his ear, about a peanut that wanted to see the world and stowed away in an elephant's trunk, but all it saw were more circuses.

Jensen doesn't move from beneath Misha's arm. He listens through to the end.

***

Misha writes, _Your mouth is a national treasure that should be kept under lock and key. Or I'll guard it. I'll keep it safe with my mouth._

***

Between takes, Jensen plays his guitar. Misha listens with his eyes closed. He doesn't recognize the songs but the notes, he knows those. He moves his fingers in the air to their cadence, and tells Jensen when the song is done, "I like those chords. Those are good chords."

"I've never heard a bad one," says Jensen.

"Oh, there are bad chords. Chords that will drive you mad or bite your fingers. But you don't play those chords. You're better than that."

Jensen looks at him the way Castiel looks at Dean when Dean makes a reference he doesn't understand. Misha just smiles and closes his eyes again, and dances his fingers through the air to the song Jensen has finished playing.

***

He leaves Jensen a note: _Make a break with me._ Jensen understands, so they take off through the woods off the set, someone shouting behind them, "Be back in fifteen minutes!" and Misha tells Jensen, "We never have to go back. We're running away."

"They'll freak out," says Jensen.

"They'll find replacements. My part could easily be played by a well-trained Labrador."

Jensen stops running to laugh, and Misha stops running to watch him. He catches the lapel of Dean's leather jacket, so at home on Jensen's shoulders, and says, "It'd be easier if we could fly. No trail to follow."

"I forgot my winged shoes," says Jensen, and now Misha laughs, delighted.

He kisses Jensen there in the sunshine, where the air smells like leaves and moss and cool water. It's a much better place, he reflects, than a road or a hotel room, someplace that smells of other people. He wants to remember this as something as natural as the trees around them, something as open as the sky.

He can taste Jensen's surprise, but it doesn't stop either of them. He holds Jensen's wrist and goose bumps rise under his thumb. Misha's thumb rests on the vein where he can feel Jensen's heart beating. It speaks to him of uncertainty and want, and Misha soothes it slowly. Nothing to be afraid of, he tells Jensen's heartbeat. I want you, but only as you want me to want you. I'll never push you too hard.

Kissing someone for the first time is always such an adventure. He wishes he could kiss Jensen for the first time every day.

Jensen is the first to pull away, and Misha lets him, releasing his wrist. It would be a tragedy to keep it captive. Jensen looks confused again, like he almost understands but doesn't want to admit it, and says, "We should get back." Misha can see him blushing through the makeup that never quite hides his freckles. Misha wants to join them one by one and see what secret message they reveal. "They'll be looking for us."

"We have forever," Misha says, but they walk back to the set anyway. Misha's steps are in three-quarter time.

***

His cell phone rings that night. (Jensen's ring tone is a waltz, because Misha couldn't find an appropriate song about airports for him.) "It's me," says Jensen. His voice slinks along Misha's ear like a cat in search of nip.

"It's you," says Misha."You're not sleeping."

"Can't. I have too much to think about. I need a little help."

"What do you want me to do?" Misha gets comfortable in bed, ready to do anything Jensen might ask. He wants Jensen to ask for something impossible. For Jensen, he'd do it.

"Tell me a story," says Jensen. "Tell me one of your stories."

It's so easy Misha almost asks to be sent on a quest instead—surely there's something Jensen wants that will involve slaying dragons? Misha has always wanted to slay a dragon—but instead he says, "All right. One story."

It's a fair price for a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> > _You are a radio, you are an open door  
>  I am a faulty string of blue Christmas lights  
> You swim through frequencies, you let that stranger in,  
> As I'm blinking off and on and off again_  
> ♪ "My Favorite Chords"—The Weakerthans
> 
> Day one: [body image](http://community.livejournal.com/14valentines/117610.html)


	2. Could We Take a Walk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Misha doesn't want to be the ingénue in this scenario, anyway, though he's happy to have Jensen be the leading man.

Even though they filmed all night and will film tonight as well, Misha decides he misses Jensen too much to wait. He buys doughnuts and coffee for three, takes it to Jared and Jensen's house and rings the bell. The dogs respond first, barking madly behind the door, and finally Jared answers, blinking sleepily like a giant toddler. Misha holds out his share of Tim Horton's as a peace offering.

"Should I get Jensen?" says Jared, still blinking and scratching and rubbing his eyes. When he's like this, Misha wants to adopt him. He must have been adorable in footie pajamas.

"I'll wake him up. I just didn't want you to feel left out."

Jared takes the doughnuts and coffee, mumbles that Misha is a prince among men, and shuts the door. Misha can hear him scold the dogs, but there are enough doughnuts in the bag for them to have some too.

Misha goes around to the back of the house, to where he knows Jensen's room is. He throws pebbles at the window until it opens, and Jensen peers down at him.

Misha holds up the other Tim Horton's bag. "I brought brunch."

"Of course you did," says Jensen. "Are you coming up or am I coming down?"

"If you come down we can go for a walk. If I come up we can make out."

"I'll come down." Jensen shuts the window.

Misha  drinks his coffee while he waits, and gives Jensen the remaining cup when Jensen joins him. "What about that walk you promised?" Jensen says as he has his first sip.

"This way," Misha says, and they both amble from the back yard to the street that meanders through the quiet, tree-lined neighborhood. They sip coffee and share doughnuts, and Misha doesn't feel the need to fill the silence. The sound of wind through the trees, the distant shouts of children, the occasional purr of a car engine -- the neighborhood tells its own story, one that briefly opens to include the two of them.

Jensen's long legs cover the sidewalk in a slow lope. Misha imagines him a hundred and fifty years ago, a cowpoke in Texas in workworn jeans and boots run down at the heel, a lasso at his side and guns at his hips . . .

"Was this what you planned?" Jensen asks and Misha snaps out of the daydream. He couldn't figure out how to fit himself in, anyway. Cowboys in love has been done.

"This is exactly what I planned."

"Walking and eating doughnuts?' says Jensen, wry.

"It's good to walk." They pass a little park built in a nook between one big turn-of-the-century house and another, no more than a swing set and a picnic table and a little sketch of grass. Misha nods to it. "Or sit. Sit and eat doughnuts." He opens the gate and takes off his sneakers to feel the cool grass between his toes as he crosses the tiny park to the table.

Jensen follows and sits on the table at Misha's side.  He looks out at the neighborhood, the coffee cup dangling from his fingers. His hands are not as big as Jared's, but they're still good hands, calloused, strong.

Misha looks up from Jensen's hands to meet his eyes. Jensen is smiling. "This is nice," he says. "This was a good idea."

"It's just coffee and a walk."

"Sometimes the simplest things are the best." He holds up his coffee cup and Misha bumps their cups together.

"To simplicity."

They drink. Jensen looks out at the neighborhood again, and puts the cup on the bench between his feet. He puts his hand on his knee, and then on the table beside Misha's. He sighs in a way that says, "Oh, all right, if it'll make you happy."

Misha smiles. Takes Jensen's warm hand in his and weaves their fingers together. Watches the breeze make the swings sway and holds Jensen's hand.

*

Misha walks Jensen home. It's like being on a first date -- not just a first date with a new person, but a first date ever, like when your parents drove you to the fun center so you could go roller skating and hold your date's hand to a slow song.

They stand in front of the door, looking at each other. Jensen says, "Do you want to come in?" nodding to the door behind him.

"What would we do?" Misha climbs up another step so they're closer to eye-level.  In the movie version of their story, Jensen would be on the bottom step so Misha would only have to lean forward to kiss him. He'd hold Jensen's face between his hands and kiss him slowly. Maybe even lift a leg up behind him, though he'd never understood why ingénues did that when they kissed the leading man.

Misha doesn't want to be the ingénue in this scenario, anyway, though he's happy to have Jensen be the leading man.

Jensen suggests, "We could play with the dogs and make fun of Jared."

Misha laughs. "As much fun as that usually is, I think I'll pass this time."

"Next time." He squints at Misha. "You mellow me out, you know?"

"That is the sweetest thing," Misha says, and Jensen ducks his head, smiling.

"You start dating someone, you start talking like a Hallmark card."

"So we are dating," says Misha.

"We're dating." Jensen looks up at him, all cheekbones and big, emotive eyes. Misha traces a line on Jensens' cheek with his fingertip, but without numbers to follow the message is still unclear.

Jensen closes his eyes, and opens them when Misha takes his hand away. "You're a mystery," Misha admits. "I'm still learning to read you."

"That's only fair, 'cause I don't get you at all." Jensen looks away again. "But I'm trying."

"Good. I don't want to be misunderstood." Jensen laughs at that, and Misha decides it's time to go. It's a "leave them wanting more" kind of moment. He hugs Jensen around his neck and whispers in his ear, "Next time you can buy the doughnuts," and Jensen nods and pats his back.

Misha nearly hops down the steps, he feels so good, and then turns when Jensen follows and calls, "Hey, Misha!" His arms go easily around Jensen's neck again when Jensen catches hold of him and kisses him.

Jensen's mouth is sweet like powdered sugar, earthy like coffee.

"See you later," Jensen says when he steps away, and then he's up the steps and into the house, greeted loudly by the dogs.

Misha almost follows him up the steps, wanting one more kiss; but he just murmurs, "Next time," and goes to his car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> > _Thank you  
>  It was great  
> Let's make another date  
> Real soon  
> In the afternoon_  
> ♪ "Could We"—Cat Power
> 
> Day two: [athletics](http://community.livejournal.com/14valentines/118265.html)


	3. No Walls, No Strings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What? You think I want to take your DNA and make the most beautiful clone army that ever was?"

It astounds Misha sometimes that Jensen is willing to follow along with his idiosyncratic courtship. Misha gives him Pez, plays him mashups or Japanese drummers, tells him bedtime stories when he calls at night or when it's two in the morning and they're all dead on their feet but have to get that _one more_ take. Then Jensen leans against Misha and closes his eyes, and Misha puts an arm around him and tells him about the little duckling who wanted to be a fireman and learned to carry a bucket in his beak.

In return Jensen plays guitar and gives Misha CDs he burns himself and shares the chalky, soapy-tasting Pez.

"What is this, middle school?" says Jared, and for his sarcasm Misha refuses to give him any of the Pez, even when he pouts.

Misha makes Jensen waffles with powdered sugar and sour cream. Jensen makes him Texas barbecue (which is very good) and cupcakes (which are undercooked in the middle and which Jensen frosted them too soon, so the frosting melted into the silver cup liners), and they share good Canadian beer and strong Belgian-brewed coffee.

Misha amuses Jensen with his very authentic Russian accent but refuses to watch "24" with him; instead he hides in another room while Jensen hoots, "Dude! You're totally naked on TV!" In retaliation, Misha digs through YouTube and torments Jensen with that scene of Jensen dancing in a kimono.

When they go out, which is rare because who has the time or energy, they usually end up at the end of the bar, nursing drinks and talking, talking. Jensen is not a talker, in general, but Misha finds he will talk about his parents, his childhood, the early days on soaps and the ridiculous horror scripts he gets now, if Misha is just patient enough to listen. All it takes for anyone to talk, really, is interest and silence.

And it's not just fairy tales that Misha tells Jensen. He increasingly tells Jensen the truth, about hard times and tough decisions and how he found himself in this life, and how sometimes, if you put enough good out there, good things come back to you.

All the other stories he tells Jensen are about the two of them, even when they're under different names.

*

They aren't quite as comfortable together as Jensen is with Jared, but Misha thinks that's okay. He doesn't want to be Jensen's brother, after all. He's thinking more playmate, partner in crime, sweetheart.

It is a bit like middle school, he reflects. It's innocent.  It's not much more than licking frosting from each other's lips or let their knees rest against each other or letting a hand rest on a hip when setting up a shot when they play pool.  On one memorable occasion Jensen falls asleep on Misha's chest and Misha stays on the sofa and lets him sleep, playing with his ears, stroking his back, not wanting to wake him anymore than he'd disturb a sleeping cat. Jensen wakes snorting and grouchy, and says, "Dude, what were you thinking, letting me sleep here all night?"

"I was thinking you were tired," says Misha, and apparently those are the magic words because Jensen kisses him good morning before he clambers off the sofa. Misha lounges on the sofa and watches him stumble about the kitchen in search of coffee. Jensen grumbles that no one should be forced to grind beans at this time of the morning and Misha is glad he put the grinder away instead of leaving it on the counter, because that means Jensen will be in his kitchen that much longer.

*

They're shivering under an umbrella and down jackets, hoping the misty Vancouver rain will let up enough to film, when Jensen says quietly, "I keep meaning to thank you," as he squints into the distance.

"You thanked me for the coffee," says Misha.

"I mean for everything else. For being patient." He looks down at their feet, Misha's wearing Castiel's wingtips and Jensen's wearing Dean's boots, and steps a little closer so that his feet frame Misha's. He's so close Misha can smell his aftershave and the leather of Dean's jacket.

Jensen's head is still bent. Rain water dots the back of his neck. Misha decides not to let the opportunity pass and gently kisses his damp hair. He hears the soft huff of air that Jensen makes in response, but Jensen also doesn't look up or move away.

Misha whispers to the top of his head, "When the time is right, when you're ready, you'll come to me."

"What if I don't?" Jensen looks up. "What if I never am?"

"Then you'll have to give me back the Pez dispensers." Jensen lowers his head again but he's smiling, and Misha leans their temples together, hoping to keep him warm.

*

It was only a matter of time for someone to ask about his intentions, and because Jared is Jensen's brother from another mother, this duty falls upon Jared. He is predictably blunt about it.

"So, once you have him, what are you going to do with him?"

They're eating lunch, today from cardboard boxes. Misha takes the meat out of his sandwich and gives it to Jared, who adds it to his sandwich without a word. The boy needs all the extra protein he can get.

And it's not lost on Misha that the people he normally eats with are sitting elsewhere, as if it were a crew-wide decision to let Jared handle this. Actually, it wouldn't surprise him it that's exactly what happened.

He says slowly, "I should probably stuff and mount him. Isn't that what you do with trophies?"

"Dude," Jared reproaches him.

Misha eats his sandwich, and it's pretty good, really, cheese and vegetables and mustard, and the bread is hearty. He says when he's swallowed, "I'm going to keep him. That's as far ahead as I've planned. Besides, whatever happens, it's pretty much up to him."

"Seriously? You're not just fucking around with him?"

"Not yet," Misha says, and Jared groans.

"I walked into that one, didn't I?"

"Yeah, you did."

Jared shoves him, which is akin to being shoved by a John Deere tractor, and Misha shoves him back, and when it becomes an actual wrestling match they both take care to protect their sandwiches. Priorities.

*

"Jared asked me what my intentions toward you are," Misha tells Jensen over the phone that night.

"What did you tell him?"

"I told him I hope you'll want to be with me."

"That's…it?"

"Yeah," Misha says, surprised. "What? You think I want to take your DNA and make the most beautiful clone army that ever was?"

"Knowing you? I'd believe it." Jensen is quiet. "No strings, huh?"

"No strings." Misha is quiet too. "I want you to be happy. I think I'm up to the task."

Softer than soft, "I think so too. Good night, Misha."

"Good night," says Misha, and he means it, he means it with all his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> > _When you're ready  
>  When you're ready  
> When you're ready  
> Come be with me_  
> ♪ "Come Be With Me"—Bird York
> 
> Day three: [health](http://community.livejournal.com/14valentines/118578.html)


	4. The Rock On Which I Stand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "And then you come along with your crazy hair and fairy tales and Tao and big feet and I'm just …"

Both Jared and Jensen have a little too much to drink tonight. Misha feels slightly sauced himself, so Genevieve takes it upon herself to drive them back to the house; and since she is a small little thing, Misha goes along to the boys' house and doesn't leave her to handle those two giants on her own.

They first wrangle Jared into his bed (Jared gropes them both as if he's not sure which one is his fiancée) and then Jensen, who is looser than usual but not as free with his hands. In the hallway, to the sound of Jared slurring through the same two lines of whatever Loverboy song had been playing on the bar's jukebox when they left, Misha and Genevieve exchange comrades-in-arms looks and Genevieve stands up on her toes to kiss Misha's cheek.

"Are you going to stay or should I call you a cab?" she says.

"I think I'll stay, unless Jensen kicks me out."

She laughs and tosses her hair over her shoulder as she saunters down the hall to rejoin Jared. "He's not going to kick you out." She closes the door just enough to muffle Jared's foghorn singing, and peers out to remind Misha, "Shut the door all the way unless you don't mind the dogs coming in."

"Yes, ma'am. Good night, ma'am." He goes into Jensen's room, which is currently dog-free. He assumes they're on Jared's bed already, and gently shuts the door.

(If they scratch at the door and cry, he'll open it again. In matters furry and affectionate, he has no defenses. Jared's dogs have figured this out about him already.)

Jensen sits on the edge of the bed, having successfully removed one boot, and looks up at Misha and blinks a few times. "You're sleeping with me tonight."

Misha hesitates, uncertain of his tone, but only for a moment. "Yes," he says and joins Jensen on the edge of the bed. His sneakers toe off easily, but Jensen is still confounded by knots and laces. He finally gives up and flops onto his back, catching Misha's shoulder on the way down. Misha falls back with a startled squawk, but doesn't complain once Jensen wraps himself around him and lays his head on Misha's  chest. Misha cradles him in one arm and pats his hair, most content.

"Was gonna let you fuck me tonight," Jensen mutters eventually and Misha rolls his eyes at the ceiling.

"You had to get drunk first? Thanks. Very flattering."

"No. That just sort of … happened." He rests his chin on Misha's chest and blinks at him again, eyes startling in their depth and beauty, his skin flushed under his tan. "The flesh is willing, dude."

"It's not going to happen tonight, anyway. There are rules about this kind of thing."

Jensen snorts and moves off him. "You don't follow rules." He gets to work on his shoe again. Misha takes pity on him and takes hold of his foot.

"Hold still." He bats Jensen's hand away, and then bats it away again, so he can get the knot in the laces undone. "There are a few rules I follow. That's one. The other is …" He coaxes the knot open by rubbing it between his fingertips, and smiles at Jensen before he pulls the laces loose enough to remove the boot. "The other is, be like a leaf on a river."

"No more New Age shit," says Jensen and pulls Misha to him by his t-shirt. Their mouths meet clumsily, Misha because it's awkward on his knees like this and Jensen because he's pretty much seeing three of everything, but then Misha finds a place to put his knees and his hands and Jensen figures out which one is the actual Misha, and they settle into a comfortable rhythm, their rhythm, the beat and cadence of this thing between them.

"It's not New Age shit," Misha says when Jensen's mouth leaves his to taste his neck. He grasps Jensen's shoulder, slightly damp through his t-shirt. He smells like aftershave and sweat and cigarettes. On Jensen, it's delicious. "It's, it's," he has a hard time remember what he's talking about, the way Jensen is sucking on his artery, "it's Tao."

Jensen licks Misha's neck and slouches against the headboard. In the dim light of his single bedside lamp Jensen's eyes are in shadow, and it's hard for Misha to gage what he means when he says, "Why are you in love with me?"

Misha tilts his head. Yes, it's a Castiel-ish thing to do. Sometimes he is more like Castiel than he'd like to admit. "Do you even have to ask that?"

"Yeah, I do. I've been burned, man. I've been burned. Boys and girls alike. People who've wanted me for the parties I could get them into or the pictures that would get taken of them with me, or because they just wanted to say they'd been with me. And then you come along with your crazy hair and fairy tales and Tao and big feet and I'm just …" He shrugs and raises his hands in surrender.

Misha takes his hands and folds their fingers together loosely. He almost tells Jensen a story about a prince who was snatched away from his castle by a flock of dragons (Do dragons come in flocks? Or do they come in prides, like lions?) but then got rescued by a doe who turned out to be a goddess under a curse, but instead says, "Your green eyes. I'm helpless when it comes to beautiful eyes."

"I'm serious."

Misha frowns, considering. He says, "Serendipity," and Jensen, after a moment, nods like it makes perfect sense. His hands relax in Misha's grip.

"So this isn't another one of your games."

"No game." Misha uses Jensen's hand to trace an X over his chest. "Cross my heart."

It's indicative of them, that while Misha has Jensen's hands captured in his, Jensen is free to move them or even take them away. It's indicative of them that he doesn't, but instead lets them rest in Misha's as they kiss. And it's indicative of them that they fall asleep on top of the coverlet, denim-clad legs tangled together and Jensen deep and warm in Misha's arms, and that in the morning they both will smell like sleep and stale cigarette smoke and neither of them will care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> > _You're the one I wanted to find  
>  And anyone who   
> Tried to deny you   
> Must be out of their mind _  
> ♪ "Green Eyes"—Coldplay
> 
> Day four: [Reproductive rights/motherhood](http://community.livejournal.com/14valentines/119007.html)


	5. This Call Could Go On All Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's after midnight and Jensen has not called.

Misha lies awake, only his book light on, waiting for the phone to ring. Today was a rough day: they had to film one of those scenes that are draining and exhausting and you had to draw on every reserve of strength and memory to get through it, and there always has to be one more take, just one more. Everyone was punchy and irritable afterwards. He and Jensen had made plans to get supper afterwards but Jensen said he was just too tired tonight and Misha agreed. A few hours to unwind were the cure for what ailed them.

Jensen calls Misha nearly every night. They have spent the night together twice, but both times were fully clothed and basically platonic. (Except for the way Jensen clung to Misha in his sleep, and the way they kissed each other _Good night_ and _Good morning_ and even _I'm awake and your mouth is right here_.) Instead of sleeping together, there are long (hours-long) talks on the phone, and every call ends with Misha telling Jensen a story before they bid each other good night.

Misha considers this only right: he is pursuing Jensen, yes, but only as far as Jensen is willing to be caught. If Jensen had never kissed him back, had never called him that night and asked for a story, then Misha would have let his fascination with Jensen dwindle away. Instead, they are engaged in a series of cautious steps toward and around each other, like taming a skittish colt.

*

Jensen is the last person Misha was to talk to at night, and the first person he wants to see in the morning, and if they don't have working hours together he fills them with other things -- poetry, novels, scripts, entertaining and abusing the minions, trying to put a little more good out into the world; and if not something good, something creative and hopefully beautiful -- and waits for the phone call or the knock on his door that means he can be with Jensen for a while. Then they watch DVDs on Misha's couch or play with Jared's dogs, or sit on the floor, bare foot caressing bare foot, while they pass the bottle or joint back and forth and talk.

Or they sit in companionable silence, Jensen's head on Misha's shoulder, and Misha strokes his hair and watches him. He can't help staring. Jensen is just too beautiful. It's like the time he went to Art Institute in Chicago and found the Impressionist gallery, and right inside the doorway was a self portrait of Vincent van Gogh, stark blue eyes staring out from the canvas like an invitation. Misha had sat on one of the benches and stared right back, and when he finally got up to go -- the museum was closing, he easily could have stayed another day -- he felt like he'd just unburdened his life story to someone who understood and would keep his secrets.

Jensen's eyes don't have that same wisdom as Vincent's but they do have the same sadness, and Misha keeps trying, carefully and gently, to find ways to drive it away.

*

It's a sort of method acting, he reflects. Castiel wants to take care of Dean, too. Keep him safe, keep him whole, protect him from the dark and malevolent forces in the world. Jensen was cut open long before Misha came into his life, but Misha hopes he can seal those wounds shut again, one day at a time.

*

There is passion, too, of course. They're both grown men, healthy, aware of their mutual attraction and the chemistry that made the crew fall silent in awe the first time they rehearsed a scene together.  Someone with Jensen's mouth could only be a fantastic kisser -- not just fantastic, earth-shattering. Jensen's kisses leave Misha delirious and trembling with want, and he has been on the verge of asking, _Please, please, tonight,_ many times.

He lets the words die on his lips. It will be Jensen's choice. He's promised Jensen that. But it is getting harder to leave him at night, even if he knows the phone will ring when Jensen gets home or when Jensen knows Misha is getting ready for bed and they can say goodnight one more time.

*

It's after midnight and Jensen has not called. Misha supposes Jensen could have fallen asleep as soon as he got home and they'd just have to talk in the morning, but he is hooked on Jensen's voice and needs his nightly dose to sleep. Besides, he has a perfect story tonight: it's about a frog who falls in love with another frog who lives on the other side of his lily pad, but every time he jumps in to find his lover, she disappears, and so the frog croaks its melancholy song, "Where? Where?" every night. Or if that one is too sad, he has one about the man in the moon and how he is allowed to come to Earth every century and find someone to come back to the moon with him so he won't be lonely, and wouldn't you know that this time around he finds a young man who really needs a long vacation? And when his lovers die, which even the most beloved people do, the man in the moon makes them into stars and hangs them in the sky …

His phone rings. Misha pounces on it. "Jensen."

"Hey, Misha. Sorry this is late. I fell asleep and just woke up a second ago. I had one of those dreams, you know, where you're looking for something and you can't find it and you're not even sure what you're looking for? It woke me up. I figure my brain was telling me to call you. So … hi."

"Hi," Misha says, smiling. "What do you want to hear about tonight? I've got a sad one and a happy one."

Jensen pauses. Jensen pauses long enough that Misha says, "Jen?"

"I'm here. Could we skip the story tonight?"

"Sure." Misha rolls onto his back and lays his arm over his eyes. "We can keep it short, since you're tired."

"It's not that."

"Something's wrong," Misha says, frowning.

"No. Maybe. Look. I have to say this. I keep meaning to say it and not saying it -- I mean, you're so hot and you're so awesome and I should -- but --"

"Tell me," Misha says quietly, though the sudden coldness in his stomach says it all.

"Misha," Jensen says, "I like you so much. And I want you, God, I want you, Misha. But I'm not in love with you."

Misha knows how this story goes. It ends the same way every time. "I see."

"It's not fair to you, to lead you on."

"You don't have to be in love every time you have sex," says Misha, though honestly? He usually has been, however briefly. There was a time he fell in love once a day -- with a pair of careworn hands, with a head of dark curls and a witty mouth, with a boy who recited a Walt Whitman poem while standing on a bench and other students stopped and stared.

(For the entirety of their relationship, Misha wasn't sure if what he actually loved was the boy or the poem.)

"If you just wanted sex you would have just fucked me," Jensen says. "You wouldn't have romanced me like this. You want me to love you, and God, I should. The more I know you the more I think you're the best person I've ever met. Maybe who ever was."

"You're not making this any easier," Misha says.

"I don't know what I'm doing," says Jensen. "Just -- darlin' -- can you be patient with me a while longer?"

Misha closes his eyes at the _darlin'_ softly growled in Jensen's drawl, and thinks of how the first time Jensen called he wanted Jensen to ask him for something impossible. This is what he was asking for -- and like most answered prayers, it is entirely _not_ what he expected.

"Yes," he says and rubs his temples. "Yes. I can be patient a while longer."

"Okay," says Jensen. "Misha. It's not good bye. It's just good night."

"Good night," Misha says, and hears Jensen's soft, "Good night, Misha," as he takes the phone away from his ear. He clicks it off and lets it drop to the carpet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> > _And Darlin' if you're wondering  
>  here's your answer  
> yes I like you  
> I don't love you  
> I can't love you  
> yet_  
> ♪ "Darlin'"—Between the Trees
> 
> Day five: [Sexuality](http://community.livejournal.com/14valentines/119486.html)


	6. The One Love That Matters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It hurts to say it, know that it's true, and know that this is the last time these words will pass between them.

As if it's a test of exactly how patient Misha can be, Jensen stops calling, stops knocking on his trailer door, stops lounging at his feet while Misha finishes his lunch. Misha takes his cues from Jensen, and leaves him alone too.

It's … awful.

Misha is a professional. On the set, on the show, he can be Castiel without much trouble: he can put on the voice and the stare, keep his face serious and his back straight, be the best friend Dean Winchester has ever had.

Once the camera stops, though, he can only be Misha again, and while life on set carries on as it always does Misha feels more out of place than he did on the first day. Jim is around, and that helps. Jim is sensible. He always has a new book to recommend and doesn't tolerate or perpetuate mindless chatter. If Misha actually wants mindless chatter, there's Jared, who is brimming over with wedding plans and lately starts every sentence with "Genevieve says" or "Genevieve wants."

Misha listens and nods in the appropriate places, and thinks that Jared will make a good dad. A big, loud, silly, loving dad.

*

A week passes. He thinks no one has noticed that he and Jensen are no longer living in each other's back pockets, and he's pretty fucking proud of it when he's not utterly miserable.

He's in Jared's trailer, scratching Harley's belly until his leg thumps when Jared says, "You know, I was worried about you breaking Jensen's heart but I guess I should have been worried about what he'd do to you."

"My heart's not broken," says Misha, scratching Harley. You can't have a broken heart when you're petting an appreciative puppy.

"Then why have you been moping around all week?" Misha looks away and Jared pokes him with his foot. "You think you're clever but you're so obvious, dude. Even the dogs have noticed. Why do you think they keep snuggling with you?"

"Betrayer," Misha says to Harley. Harley lays his muzzle on Misha's thigh and looks up at him contritely, and is instantly forgiven. He resumes scratching, this time between Harley's ears. "What gave me away?"

"You're hanging around here, for one thing, when you'd obviously rather be with him. So was it a fight, or --?"

"It was nothing. It was just things not working out."

"And you just gave up? You, the great pretender and fearless leader?" Jared snorts. "Your minions would be disappointed."

"I don't know what else to do," says Misha and drops his hand. Harley nudges his nose against Misha's palm. "When you say to someone 'this is all of me' and they say 'it's not enough,' what more do you do?"

"Is that really what Jensen said?"

"It may as well have been."

Jared leans over and taps the top of Misha's head like he does with the dogs when they misbehave. Misha thinks he's going to add a "Bad Misha! No cookie!" but instead he says, tapping Misha's head again with each word, "You. Know. Jensen. Better."

Misha ducks his head under Jared's enormous hand, and then pushes himself up from the floor. "The dog cure failed," he informs Jared, and tells Harley, "Not your fault," and leaves Jared's trailer.

*

He sees Jensen and Jared whispering to each other later, but that's not unusual.

He sees Jensen looking at him while they talk, and that's not unusual either. He preferred it, though, when Jensen would wink or smile or make a face (that's how they got the "it froze that way" face -- it was the one that made Misha laugh hardest), but the look that borders on pity? That's no good at all.

It's a relief to go home that night, throw off his clothes and crawl into bed. His dreams have been even stranger than usual since he stopped telling stories to Jensen, full of princes frozen in ice, youngest sons setting out to seek their fortunes, cursed swans and rats protecting a golden egg; and he hopes tonight will be dreamless. He's not needed on the set tomorrow, and just sleeping, sleeping for hours, sounds like the best way to spend his time.

He doesn't want to talk to his mother, even.

He misses Jensen.

*

Misha wakes to a soft click on his window. At the second one he frowns, at the third he gets out of bed and opens his window. There on the ground is Jensen, getting ready to toss another pebble.

"Hey."

"Hey," says Misha. "What do you want?"

"I want to talk to you."

"Come up here before my neighbors call the cops," says Misha and shuts the window. He buzzes Jensen into the building and opens the door for him, and waits on the sofa, his head leaning on his hand.

"Hey," Jensen says again when he closes the door behind him. He doesn't sit next to Misha; instead he takes the chair opposite, nearly crouching in the seat like he expects to pop back up again. "You look like you haven't been sleeping, either."

"I'm all right. What do you want, Jensen?"

Jensen presses his lips together a moment. "I want you to forgive me. This whole week has been awful, and I've missed you. I miss all the stupid shit you do, the stories and everything. It's crazy."

"Oh," Misha said.

"See, the thing is," Jensen says and clears his throat, because for a moment he was dropping into his Dean-voice as if it were the emotional epiphany of the season, "in all this, I knew I had a, you know, lover, I guess. I didn't realize I'd gotten another best friend." He swallows. "I miss you. I miss you a lot. I don't want to be distant with you anymore. It's awful and it sucks and I … want you back."

For a moment Misha's heart dances. It would be easy to take what he's being given and be grateful for the crumbs. Lots of people never find love, let alone the forever kind, and settle for just someone wanting them.

Misha has never been the kind to do what's easy. He's never been the kind to settle.

"No, Jen," he says quietly. "You miss the attention. You don't miss me."

"But, Misha --"

"Think about what you want me for," Misha says gently, and almost smiles at him. "Think about why you miss me." Jensen looks down at the floor, his expression stoic but his eyes, more soulful than ever, tell of his understanding and sorrow. "I love you so much," Misha says and Jensen's face twists, and Misha knows why: it hurts to say it, know that it's true, and know that this is the last time these words will pass between them. "I want to make you happy. But I can't do this unless you want to make me happy too."

For a minute or longer, they're both silent.

"Okay," Jensen says and stands. He goes to the door, and then pauses and returns to Misha's side. He kisses the top of Misha's head, and Misha closes his eyes until he hears the front door click shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> > _How do we begin to say I forgive you,  
>  And how do we begin to repair this family affair?  
> I think about the never-ending way that my day never seems to want to end  
> I think about the loneliness of losing a friend._  
> ♪ "Family Affair"—Abra Moore
> 
> Day six: [Sexual assault](http://community.livejournal.com/14valentines/120189.html)


	7. P.S. you rock my world

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You said some stuff and I listened. And now you're going to listen and I'm going to talk."

Misha spends his day off quietly. A bike ride in the morning. A few more pages to a script he's writing. Letters written, emails answered, lines memorized.

This is the only time he has to step back and take a few deep breaths. The next scene he has with Jensen looks like a tough one, and he's not looking forward to it. So many scenes for the final episodes of the season are so _fraught_ , and this one is no different.  More conflicting emotions, more talk about trust, more of Dean's damaged sense of worth and Castiel's unshakable faith in him.

When they last filmed a scene like this, he and Jensen stole a few kisses before they were called to the set, and something of that tension and desire crept into their performances despite their best efforts. "You two looked like you were about to tear each other's clothes off," Robert said, and Jensen smiled secretly at Misha, and Misha touched his back.

He has no idea how they're going to top that without actually being naked, to be honest.

He's mulling over whether to eat in or go out for dinner when his buzzer sounds. He taps the button. "Yes?"

"It's me."

Misha hesitates a moment before he speaks again. "Jensen?"

"Yes. Are you busy? Can I come up?"

Again Misha hesitates, but finally says, "Yes," and buzzes him in. Only a few moments pass before Jensen is rapping on his door, and when Misha opens it Jensen has the fervent, excited look of someone who's just had their inner eye opened.

"Are you all right?" Misha says and directs him to a chair, but Jensen pops right up again.

"I'm fine. I'm great. I'm better than great. You know what? It all makes sense to me now."

"What does?" Misha says cautiously.

"You. Me. Us." He grabs Misha's arm. "I get it."

Misha pulls his arm from Jensen's grip. "Then what are you doing here? We talked about this. We agreed --"

"No," Jensen says, holding up his hand. "No. You said some stuff and I listened. And now you're going to listen and I'm going to talk. Okay?"

Misha studies him from head to toe. Tall, sturdy Jensen, more beautiful than any one man has the right to be, guileless and sweet-natured, and still Misha's favorite person, no matter what else may happen between them.

"Okay," he says, "but sit down, please. The pacing is making me nervous."

Jensen sits and presses his hands together to keep from waving them around. "Okay. Have you ever had a moment when you realize something that's going to change your life?"

"An epiphany," Misha says. "Yes."

"Of course you have," Jensen says and smiles a moment. "You know fucking everything. Well, I had one today. And it's that you're wrong."

Misha raises his eyebrows.

Jensen says, earnest and urgent, "I was just on my mark, thinking about the scene and Dean and what he's facing and where he's finding the strength, and of course it's the people he loves, it's Sam and Cas, and I thought about Cas, and I thought about you, and I thought, Castiel should be here -- and then I thought, No, Misha should be here.

"And I missed you so much right then. I just wanted you there, darlin'. I just wanted you there."

Misha says slowly, "I don't quite --"

"I don't miss the attention. Okay, I miss the attention, but what I _really_ miss is getting the attention from you. I miss talking to _you_ and being with _you_ and playing with _you_. We get a break, and I want to spend it with you; something cool happens, and I want to call you and tell you about it; Jared flubs a line, and I want you to laugh at it -- I just want you around, Misha, with all your weirdness and philosophies and stories, and it wouldn't matter if you just stood next to me and held my hand, I'd be happy."

He stops and bites his lip. His eyes are enormous.

Misha looks away a moment. It's not an "I love you", but it's sweet and sincere and, in the manner of most epiphanies, so simple.

Jensen says, "Misha?" and for the first time there's a note of doubt in his voice.

Misha looks back at him. Without a word -- without a thought, really -- he's in Jensen's lap and holding Jensen's face in his hands, and kisses him, Jensen's soft lips opening and his strong hands grasping Misha's hips and pulling him so close Misha can feel every hitch of his chest and tremble of his thighs.

"I don't want to be careful anymore," Jensen whispers as they pant against each other's mouths and Misha rubs circles into Jensen's cheekbones with his thumbs. "I just want to be happy, and that means being with you."

"I get it, Jensen," Misha assures him with a soft laugh, and Jensen laughs too, and then they're kissing again.

It's not until Jensen's hand descends between Misha's legs that Misha says, "Wait, stop, wait," and Jensen pulls away with an impatient groan.

"What? What's wrong now? You can't tell me you don't want to have sex now, 'cause I know you do."

"I do," Misha says and slides off Jensen's lap, because this is not a conversation he wants to have while half-mast. "But I also want to be sure you're still going to feel this way tomorrow and that this isn't some epiphany-induced lunacy."

"I'm loony about you," Jensen says. "How about that?"

"Not really helping your case," Misha says. "You're not supposed to swear by the moon, because the moon changes."

"Never heard that before," Jensen says, stalking after him, and Misha puts the sofa between them just to keep from grabbing him again. "C'mon, Misha. Let's do it. I know you want me, you know I want you -- let's go to bed and I'll make you wonder why you ever doubted me."

"I doubted you because you got cold feet."

Jensen stops his slow pursuit around the room and frowns at him. "And now you need me to prove that won't happen again."

"Exactly. Show me, Jensen. Words are just words. Go, I don't know, slay me a dragon or something. Just, _show me_."

"Slay you a dragon? Never one for the small demands, are ya?"

"Metaphorically," Misha says. "Dragons are scarce in Canada. It's the cold."

Jensen looks at him, with a slight "what the hell?" furrow between his brows, and then laughs. "Okay. I get it. I know what you want. And you know what? You're going to get it. You're going to get everything you ever wanted."

"Be careful with that," Misha says. "I want world peace and a pony, not just you."

"I can do world peace. The pony may be tough." He kneels on the sofa between them and leans on it. "Give me a good night kiss, please, and I'll go home. And rest up for tomorrow. You are going to get seduced like you never have before, Misha -- Mish -- god, what do people _call_ you?"

"Just call me darlin' again," Misha says, and Jensen smiles a slow, sleepy smile that positively oozes promise and lust.

"Darlin'," he growls, and Misha kisses him good night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> > _Laying in bed tonight i was thinking  
>  And listening to all the dogs  
> And the sirens and the shots  
> And how a careful man tries  
> To dodge the bullets  
> While a happy man takes a walk_
>> 
>> _And maybe it is time to live_  
>  ♪ "P.S. You Rock My World"—the Eels
> 
> Day seven: [Domestic violence](http://community.livejournal.com/14valentines/120446.html)


	8. Since I Surrendered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One sweet moment. They deserve it.

The set is so quiet Misha could hear the film whirring in the camera, but he doesn't stop staring into Jensen's eyes. Jensen stares right back, breathing through parted lips, and Misha suspects that this will be one of those scenes that fans will shriek and write and obsess about for weeks, if they use this take.

"Cut," Robert says finally and instantly the tension relaxes as crew members exhale and Jensen shrugs off Dean like taking off a shirt. Misha leans forward to lay his head on Jensen's shoulder and support himself on Jensen's solid form, and Jensen laughs and pats his back. His other hand rests, warm and gentle, on the back of Misha's neck.

"You okay, darlin'?" he whispers into Misha's ear, and Misha nods. Jensen rubs his neck and pats his back a minute more, and Misha straightens up and smiles.

"Okay. I'm ready to do this again."

"Guys," Robert says and puts his arms around both their shoulders. "You are getting it perfectly. You're hitting it out of the park. But we're going to do it one more time --"

"Of course," Jensen murmurs and winks at Misha.

"And this time, I want you to -- well, don't be afraid to push it. You can't go too far. I want to see where you take it. Are you okay with that?"

"You want Dean and Castiel to kiss," Misha says.

"If that's where the scene takes you, yeah." He looks back and forth between them.

Jensen rubs the back of his head a moment, looking both uncomfortable and amused. "That's going to make season six interesting."

"We'll deal with that when we get there. So, is it okay? Do you trust me with this?"

Jensen and Misha look at each other, and Jensen nods first. "Yeah. I think we do."

"Good. Good." Robert pats their backs again and goes back behind the camera, as Jensen and Misha go to their marks. Makeup artists fuss over them, brushing on more powder and arranging their hair -- or messing it up further, in Misha's case -- and Misha looks over at Jensen to give him a small smile.

Jensen winks at Misha again. Misha never knew a wink could be reassuring, but he feels reassured.

*

That morning, when Misha arrived on the set, there was something waiting for him in his chair in the makeup trailer: a small stuffed pony with a blonde mane and a light brown coat. It had a note tucked under its blue leather halter (the handwriting is loopy and wide, feminine, which makes Misha suspect Jensen recruited Genevieve to write it) that said his name is Mort and he's a long way from home, could Misha take care of him?

Mort the pony accompanied Misha to the set, and when Jensen saw the toy tucked in Misha's elbow his eyes sparkled and he grinned like he was about to bust out laughing, but he managed to keep himself under control. Misha did not acknowledge that anything was out of the ordinary, except for solemnly introducing Mort the pony to anyone who asked: "This is Mort. He's a pony."

Everyone seems to think it's just Misha being Misha, but he knows what it means. Misha doesn't know how Jensen will give him world peace, but he's positive Jensen will find a way to do it. He's managed the pony, after all.

And then … well, he'd promised Jensen would choose when they went further, and Jensen has chosen; he'd asked Jensen to show him he meant it, and Jensen is showing him; and then it will be time for Misha to hold up his end. The thought makes him tremble. The problem with buildup is that you're bound to be disappointed. Reality will ever be as good as imagination. If he and Jensen aren't as good together as Misha hopes, what then?

But there's the way Jensen kisses him. There's the lazy, hungry looks Jensen gives him. And there's the tension between them in the scene; with Dean and Castiel so desperate, Misha has been pouring himself into the scene and Jensen is not only meeting him but giving him even more, pushing him further still.

They're bound already, Misha thinks, in so many ways. Becoming lovers will only be one more.

*

And now they have permission to kiss in the scene, if they feel it. Not a direction, exactly. Just permission.

Misha takes all the conflicting emotions, the hope and the nerves and the eagerness, folds them together and tells himself that Castiel is still new to emotion and will feel it all raw and unadorned, in primary colors like a small child. If Castiel wants, he'll flat-out want.

He looks at Jensen: his eyes are closed and his head is bobbing a little like a skier visualizing a run before he even puts on his skis. Jensen has been acting so long that technique is second-nature to him, and Misha envies him that sometimes.

The camera starts rolling, a PA claps the time marker, and they're Dean and Castiel, grappling with the end of the world once again.

There's a lot of yelling in this scene, a lot of pleading. Tears weren't written into the script but they're shed anyway, and then Dean is right in Castiel's face, invading his space like he'd lectured Castiel about sometime offscreen. (It's a scene Misha regrets they didn't film, but he and Jensen have talked about it and agreed on what Dean said and how Castiel took it.)

And then there's that moment, the climax of the scene, where as written the emotional payoff is another intense stare -- but it has to be more, it has to acknowledge all that the hunter and the angel have meant to each other, have been to each other, that make all the fights and pain worth it.

One sweet moment. They deserve it.

Misha moves first but by less than a second -- he has Jensen's face in his hands and Jensen is holding his. Their mouths meet; they don't even decorously fake the deep kiss but mouths open and tongues join before their lips even touch. Jensen shoves his body against Misha's, which Misha thinks is just right for Dean since he's the one who know how to kiss, who knows best what this will lead to; and when Misha shoves back Jensen pushes Misha against the nearest wall (it's just a flat, not an actual wall, and it shakes a little under their combined weights). Jensen kisses him harder and more urgently. Misha clutches at Jensen; he's clumsy and uncertain, as someone who's never really been kissed would be, but eager, just as hungry for this as his favorite human.

It's not until Misha's hands cup Jensen's ass that Robert says, "Cut!" Misha drops his hands and Jensen pulls his mouth away, though he stays pressed again Misha, breathing hard. His cheek rests against Misha's and his lashes brush Misha's skin.

"I think we need to break for lunch," says Robert, and there's some nervous laughter from the crew.

"Jen," Misha says gently and touches Jensen's waist. Jensen pulls himself away, reluctant, and then turns to stalk off the set. Misha stops only to scoop up Mort the pony and then catches up him. Their strides match as Jensen leads them through the maze of trailers and sound stages.

Finally Jensen mutters, his voice Dean-gruff, "I had this plan. I was going to be cute."

"You are cute."

"I was going to be charming."

"You are charming."

"I was going to be everything you've ever wanted."

Misha looks at him directly. "You are."

Jensen looks back at him. "Are you hungry?"

"No," Misha says, almost laughing. "No."

"We should -- "

"Yes." He winds his arm through Jensen's. "We should."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> > _You tell me baby  
>  That you can feel me  
> I sent a message out into the dark  
> When I kiss you  
> That's the real me  
> I've gotta find my way to your heart_  
> ♪ "Into the Dark"—Ben Lee
> 
> Day eight: politics


	9. Tongue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He wants to kiss him, he wants to write a story on the roof of Jensen's mouth with his tongue.

Their trailers aren't big, but no one uses them much anyway. They change clothes, they grab catnaps, they play a little Nintendo or revel in a few minutes to read when the weather is too bad to film.

Every trailer has a small bed at one end, and Jensen's is neatly made. Misha looks at it and looks at Jensen, and places Mort the pony on the little kitchen table. "Guard pony."

"I thought you'd like him."

"I do."

"C'mere," Jensen says but comes to Misha himself, takes his face in both hands and looks at him intently before he dips his head and kisses Misha's mouth. Misha's hands go to Jensen's hips and pull him closer -- slender hips and waist, and those arms, that chest -- he can touch Jensen anywhere, everywhere, and Misha realizes he doesn't want to hesitate a second longer.

He takes hold of Jensen's flannel shirt and _yanks_. Jensen pulls back to grin at him. "Forceful."

"We only have an hour," Misha reminds him as he pulls the shirt off Jensen's arms. The t-shirt goes next as Jensen raises his arms without being asked. "We can be slow later."

"Saturday night," Jensen murmurs. "And we'll spend Sunday in bed."

"That sounds perfect." He kisses Jensen, hands on his chest, and then slides down to kneel at his feet. Jensen has that "what the hell?" look again but it's tempered with affection and warmth, and Misha just smiles. He unties Jensen's boots and takes them off, and then the thick cotton socks. He traces his fingertips over Jensen's instep and Jensen shivers.

"We only have an hour," Jensen says, breathless.

"It'll be a good hour." Misha takes hold of Jensen's hips; he's staring straight at the bulge in Jensen's jeans that has been tantalizing him since they left the set. He rubs his hands up Jensen's thighs and Jensen tilts back his head and groans.  Misha unzips his jeans, and tugs them and the grey heather boxers beneath down to Jensen's feet, and Jensen steps out of them, holding Misha's shoulder for balance.

Misha kneels up and grasps Jensen's hips again. Jensen trembles with anticipation. His hand brushes into Misha's hair.

Misha licks him into his mouth simply, no messing around, he needs this, he needs Jensen at his most human and raw. Above him Jensen breathes, "Misha," and his hand curls around the back of Misha's head. Misha holds him tight -- his hands scrabble at Jensen's ass (why do people always talk about Jared's ass? Jensen's is just as taut, just as temptingly curving) as Jensen's hips begin to rock.

It's not until Jensen's legs start to shake that Misha pulls off, and Jensen gives him a darkly lust-addled look as he tries to pull Misha's head back into place. Misha shakes his head. "I want you to fuck me and there isn't time to wait."

He uses Jensen as a counterbalance to stand, and Jensen still has that dazed look as Misha directs him back to the narrow bed. He goes down easily, limbs splaying out like a virgin on a slab, but he finally seems to get it when Misha climbs on top of him.

"Costume." Jensen tugs on Misha's tie.

"You want me naked, take off my clothes," Misha says reasonably, and Jensen kisses him, distracting him with his lush mouth, as Jensen rids him of tie and raincoat and suit jacket.

"Too many clothes," Jensen reproaches him as he pulls the button-down shirt over Misha's head, not bothering with undoing many of the buttons.

"Next season Cas will wear nothing but sweat pants and a Body by Gold's t-shirt," says Misha and Jensen is laughing as he kisses him again.

"Or nothing. He should be naked -- beyond modesty like Doctor Manhattan." Jensen pushes Misha onto his back and the wingtips thunk to the floor as Jensen tosses them over his shoulder.

"The censors will love that," Misha breathes, his hips arching up to Jensen's hands. He groans when Jensen licks his stomach as he tugs the zipper of Misha's trousers down click by click.

"We can excuse it as fine art," Jensen says as he gets on his knees and yanks off Misha's pants. Misha laughs and kicks them off the last few inches, not really helping, and Jensen is smiling again as he lies himself between Misha's thighs. He holds Misha's gaze as he runs a deliberate tongue up the length of Misha's dick. Misha watches for as long as he can, until he has to turn his face away to keep himself from coming at the sight of Jensen's lips around his cock, the feel of Jensen's tongue sliding wetly over his flesh.

"Too beautiful." He shoves a hand into Jensen's hair and massages his scalp as Jensen licks up his body and into his mouth. He winds an arm around Jensen's neck as they kiss, urgent and greedy, and dances his fingers over Jensen's skin to the hot length of his cock. Jensen shivers and nips at Misha's lip when Misha touches the wet head.

"Sure you want to just jump right in to fucking?" Jensen whispers against his cheek. "There's lots of stuff we can do instead."

Misha shakes his head vigorously, one leg already poised to go over Jensen's shoulder. "Only if you don't have a condom."

"Pfft. I'm a modern guy." He kisses Misha's calf and leaves the bed just long enough to get one from the tiny trailer bathroom, and gives it to Misha when he returns. Misha sits and licks his lips; he has to concentrate to keep his hands from trembling as he unrolls the condom carefully onto Jensen's prick and settles it into place. Jensen barely breathes, kneeling in front of him, and he holds Misha by the back of his head and kisses him with an open mouth.

He stops kissing Misha to lubricate his fingers and push him flat. He opens Misha carefully, stopping every time Misha inhales too hard or shivers too deeply, until finally Misha tugs on his shoulders and says "Now," and pulls Jensen on top of him. Misha kisses him and tells him again, "Now," as his legs bracket Jensen's hips.

"God, you're perfect," Jensen whispers, eyes enormous and jade-dark. His back is shivering as he pushes carefully into Misha, and his slow pace would make Misha laugh if he weren't busy groaning.

He moves a thigh over Jensen's shoulder once he knows he can take Jensen deeper, and while it's harder to kiss Jensen like this (and he wants to kiss him, he wants to write a story on the roof of Jensen's mouth with his tongue) it's all right because Jensen is kissing his chest and up his neck and whispering the only nickname Misha wants to hear, "Darlin', darlin'."

He thinks he might combust when Jensen finally takes his cock in a long-fingered hand. Some other time he'll keep control, some other time he'll make it last -- Misha thrusts a hand into Jensen's hand and shoves his hips to match Jensen's rhythm, and when he comes Jensen lowers his leg and holds him in both arms and kisses him until both their shaking stops.

*

The makeup girls don't comment on the stubble burn and love bites they both have mysteriously acquired, or on the fact that Misha smells like Jensen's soap.

There wasn't time to talk -- only time to grab a quick shower and get back to the soundstage, wolf down lunch and be on their marks for the next scene. Misha thinks talking will have to take place eventually -- and probably soon, though at this point Misha thinks the conversation will be nothing more than, "I'm yours now," and "I'm yours too."

He looks at Jensen, unable to hide the want in his eyes, and when Jensen notices him he doesn't bother to hide the warmth in his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> > _I need to feel young again, I need to be bold  
>  And start using my tongue again  
> They can laugh as they cry  
> They can cut till I bleed  
> But I ain't losing 'cos this one's for me_  
> ♪ "Tongue"—Bell X1
> 
> Day nine: [gender](http://community.livejournal.com/14valentines/121460.html)


	10. Like a Shoebox of Photographs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'm too happy to sleep. I want to share it."

"Come home with me tonight," Misha says to Jensen in an undertone as they walk back to the costume trailer. It's late, everyone's tired and punchy, but there are more scenes in the can and the episode will be handed in on time.

"I don't know if I've got the energy for more than sleeping tonight," Jensen says in the same tone.

"That's okay," Misha says and puts an arm around Jensen's waist. "I just want to wake up with you."

Jensen stops walking and puts an arm around Misha's neck to hold him close. Misha shuts his eyes and leans their foreheads together, and smiles when Jensen plants a kiss on the tip of his nose. "Okay," Jensen says, and keeps his arm around Misha until they reach the costume trailer.

Getting Jensen to his place is no trouble -- Jared only gave them both an amused look when Jensen told him he was going home with Misha -- but once he's there, Misha has to step back a moment. Of course Jensen has been here before -- his boots have been under the couch, he has a favorite glass in the cupboard, his brand of beer is in the fridge -- but he's always been here as a friend, never as a lover.

He shouldn't be worried, Misha think as he watches Jensen stretch before taking off his pullover. It's like a hundred times before, only instead of going home at the end of the night Jensen will stay.

"Do you want anything?" he says, hanging up his own coat, and Jensen shakes his head.

"Just to go to bed." He pauses, and adds a soft, "Hey," as he cups Misha's cheek.

"Hey," Misha answers, and they kiss like they have all night.

They strip off their clothes and crawl under the sheets. It takes a few tries to find a way they fit together, long limbs pressing against long limbs, but then Misha bends his knee the right way and Jensen moves his hip, and they are just right: close enough to feel heartbeats and breathing, warm together but not too warm, arms crooked so that they can caress the softly curling hair at the back of a neck or rub lazy circles on a chest with a thumb.

Misha breathes in Jensen's scent. He traces the line of Jensen's shoulder and Jensen blinks at him sleepily. Misha traces his eyelashes, too, and quotes to him, "'Your lashes are longer than anyone's.'"

"Hm," Jensen says and moves closer to Misha, tucking his head under Misha's chin. Misha kisses his hair.

The urgency they felt earlier is not gone, exactly, but it has been satisfied for now. The thrum Misha feels at Jensen's closeness isn't quite as demanding. He can hold Jensen just like this, feel Jensen's back rise and fall under his hand, inhale the end-of-the-day scent of him.

He quotes again, because his heart is still beating too fast to sleep with Jensen is right there, "'I dreamed you were a poem, a poem I wanted to show someone.'"

Jensen smiles, his eyes still shut. "You're not going to let me sleep yet, are you?"

"I'm too happy to sleep. I want to share it."

Jensen unfolds himself from Misha's arms and pushes him onto his back. Misha opens his legs to wrap them around Jensen's hips, wraps his arms around Jensen's back. Jensen kisses Misha slowly, his arms framing Misha's head so he can dip and move as much as he wants. The way he moves is so graceful and so purposeful, like a big cat slinking along the Serengeti -- it's positively feral, Misha thinks, and that gives him an idea. He catches Jensen's head in one hand and whispers in his ear, "Once upon a time there was a little barn cat who thought he was the greatest singer who ever lived and wanted everyone to know it."

"Yeah?" Jensen whispers. "And what did the little barn cat do?" His tongue writes a symbol on Misha's cheekbone.

"He went out into the world, of course, and sang for his supper on fences and back porches as he made his way to the city. No one was appreciative of his talent -- in fact, he frequently had to end his performances by running away from the shoes people tossed at him. It was," Misha says thoughtfully, "better than rotten tomatoes."

"Poor little barn cat." He kisses Misha's throat and Misha shivers.

"Yes," he says after he's collected himself. "Poor thing. Soon he reached the city where he could sing for people on street corners and fire escapes, but they didn't appreciate his talent anymore than the country people and just threw more shoes at him."

Jensen leans on his elbow and looks at Misha, amusement in his eyes. "And I thought you wanted me to stay awake so we could fuck again."

"Story first. The story always comes first." He places his hands on Jensen's shoulders, runs them over the smooth skin. "So, as the little barn cat was walking dejectedly along the streets of the city after yet another ruined performance on his sore, tired paws, a little alley cat approached him and said, I love your voice and I want to listen to you sing all the time. The barn cat said, You're the only one who does. And the alley cat told the barn cat, If you'll sing for me every night, I'll show you all the best places to beg for fish or steal some cream, or where there's a kind-hearted woman who'll brush your fur. And the barn cat agreed and was happy, because an appreciative audience of one is much better than an unappreciative audience of six million." He pauses, thinks over the story, and says, "The end."

"Is there a particular reason you told me that story tonight?" Jensen's hands weave through his hair and tilt back his head, and Jensen's lips start tasting his neck.

"No. The way you moved just now made me think of it. Though," he adds thoughtfully, as thoughtfully as he can while Jensen is writing a story of his own along Misha's throat, "maybe the moral of the story is no matter what you do and what other people think of you, I'll always be your biggest fan."

"Misha," Jensen says and kisses him, "I know that. I know all that."

"Okay," Misha says and kisses him back. "It's one of those things you can't say too often, though." He pulls Jensen on top of him, his body all angles and lean muscles, his cock brushing hotly against Misha's. The urgency he thought they'd satisfied flares up again, demanding as a volcano god, and Misha crosses his ankles at the small of Jensen's back and says, "More?" and laughs at Jensen's enthusiastic nod.

It's simpler this time, just each other's hands as they suck and lick at each other's mouths, but what matters is that it's Jensen's hand, Jensen's mouth. Misha hears himself groaning, "Oh, Jen, I love you," as his come paints Jensen's stomach. Jensen finishes moments later, shivering down his back, and as Misha slows his hand Jensen curls into him, breathing hard and one hand clenched into a fist, eyes wide and astonished. His arm winds possessively around Misha's waist.

They look at each other, sweaty, sticky, panting, and they both start laughing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> > _Love is the answer,  
>  At least for most of the questions in my heart  
> Like why are we here? And where do we go?  
> And how come it's so hard?_  
> ♪ "Better Together"—Jack Johnson
> 
> The poems Misha quotes are [II from Twenty-one love poems](http://www.southerncrossreview.org/41/rich.htm) by Adrienne Rich and [Where does this tenderness come from?](http://www.arlindo-correia.com/120304.html) by Marina Ivanovna Tsvetaeva. (I wanted Misha to quote that one in Russian but couldn't figure out the transliteration.)
> 
> Day ten: [women of color](http://community.livejournal.com/14valentines/122310.html)


	11. Life Just Kind of Dances Through Ya

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Somebody comes into your life and it's like you can't even remember who you were before they came along."

Misha wants to line Jensen's path with daffodils and sole his shoes with gold. He wants to give Jensen seashells and robins' eggs.  He thinks no one alive has ever been so handsome, so gentle, so unique as his Jensen, and he wants to grab people's arms and demand they agree with him like a sidewalk madman.

He doesn't, of course, because that would just embarrass Jensen, but there's no denying he is recklessly, absurdly in love.

*

There's no time in the morning to dawdle over coffee and toast and figure things out. They shower (together -- it's faster) and take their separate cars to the set, and then there are lines and actions to rehearse and costumes and makeup to put on, and then scenes to film and film and film. There's no time to be alone with Jensen, to suggest they run away for a while, to relearn the taste of Jensen's mouth.

Between takes, Misha plays a little stickball with Jared (the ball is a rolled-up wad of gaffer's tape) and talks books with Jim,  writes down the story he told to Jensen the night before and starts one about Mort the Pony, and thinks, _Children's books. Hm._ He tweets some nonsense to the minions and checks on the UNICEF page.

When Jensen finally has a spare moment and drops into a chair beside him, Misha just takes his hand. Not even takes it -- just weaves their fingers together and lets them loosely hang. Jensen leans back his head and closes his eyes, and when he's called back, he sighs, kisses Misha on the forehead and heads off without a word.

When the long day is over (and it's late, it's always late), Jensen says, "Is it okay if we see each other tomorrow? I'm really tired."

Misha almost suggests they can just sleep, but that didn't work out so well the last time so he just says, "Okay. Sleep well. Call me if you need a bedtime story."

Jensen smiles a dirty, promising smile. "I will definitely call you."

When Jensen does call, as soon as he gets home if Misha guesses the time right, Misha tells him the Adventure of Mort the Pony and the Queen of Astoria, when Mort the Pony recovered her stolen Crown Jewels but didn't marry the queen even when she pleaded because he was an adventurer pony, not a domestic one.

"I love you," he says before he says good night, and Jensen says, "I know."

*

The scenes they have to film are heavy on action, light on emotion. That's good -- Misha's not sure he can handle another scene like the kiss, particularly since there is a lot of discussion going on between the writers, Eric and the network about whether they're going to air that take or not. Jensen was right: if they use the take with the kiss, it'll change season six.

Misha hopes they'll use that take. "It'll be such an interesting arc to play," he tells Jared and Jensen, while Jared looks skeptical (that he is not teasing Jensen to death about kissing a man on camera tells Misha he has no idea what to think about it) and Jensen stares at his mouth. "Castiel adapting to humanity -- and what better person to do it with than the man he loves?"

"I don't think the country is ready for that kind of story on network TV," says Jared.

"It doesn't have to change direction of the show. Just be there, in the background. A little scene every few episodes to just show they're working on it."

"Love scenes," says Jensen, still staring at his mouth, and Misha deliberately licks his lips.

"You're coming over Saturday night," he informs Jensen, who just nods, enraptured.

"They're making googly eyes at each other," Jared informs Sadie. "Now we know why Misha doesn't come play with us anymore."

"I'd play with them now but I've got fake blood all over my face," says Misha.

"It is scary how sexy you are right now," says Jensen.

"My poor puppies," says Jared, protectively covering Sadie's ears.

*

Theirs isn't the first relationship to begin on-set, of course, but Misha suspects it's the most mellow. They don't make an announcement, because that would be ridiculous, but no one acts surprised when they hold hands or lean against each other comfortably in quiet moments. Misha was a little worried that their chemistry would be tempered, but with the first intimate scene they have together it's obvious that the chemistry is still there. It just has a different flavor now, a deeper level of trust.

They play their scenes a few different ways: as if Dean and Castiel have kissed and want to again but don't know how to broach the subject; as if they long to touch and yet don't dare; as if neither are thinking of anything but surviving the end, and once that's accomplished, then they can allow themselves to fall in love; as if they just finished making love before the camera started rolling.

(These takes are Misha's favorites. They feel electric, and sometimes he wants to touch Jensen just to see if he'll get a spark from his skin.)

*

Saturday night, Jensen shows up at Misha's with an overnight bag and his guitar. "Planning to stay a while?" Misha says, utterly pleased, and Jensen blushes a little and smiles.

"I figured the U-Haul would be presumptuous."

"Maybe next week," says Misha and pulls him to the sofa, because he hasn't kissed Jensen for an entire three hours and needs to change that, pronto.

It's very late when they finally move to the bedroom to eat dinner (proof of how Jensen flipped his world upside down: sex is had on the couch, eating in bed, and he supposes next they'll start showering in the hallway) with the stereo playing Korean pop (Jensen said, "What is this song about?" and Misha said, "I have no idea, I think that's why I like it,") and Jensen says, "I guess you know I mean it now."

"Yeah. I'm pretty convinced."

"Good." Jensen tries and fails to get rice into his mouth with chopsticks, and finally gives up and just scoops it into his mouth. "Funny how this happens, isn't it?" he says and swallows. "Somebody comes into your life and it's like you can't even remember who you were before they came along."

"I think you're giving me way too much credit," says Misha. His chest is not covered with grains of rice, unlike a certain someone else's, and he holds the chopsticks with practiced ease. "I haven't done anything but enjoy you."

Jensen shakes his head slowly, his gaze thoughtful and distant. "No. I mean." He sighs. "I can't put my finger on it, exactly. There's always something new to look forward to. Getting up in the morning, it's like my birthday when I was a kid. I keep thinking, 'What's Misha going to do today?' You come into a room and everyone is looser, you know? And me, I'm just happier." He looks at Misha, serious but smiling. "I need you to know that. I'm happy. You make me really happy."

Misha smiles and kisses Jensen simply, licking up a drop of sweet-and-sour sauce while he's there. "Good. That's how it's supposed to be."

"It usually hasn't been," Jensen says and feeds him a potsticker.

Misha eats it and wipes sauce from his mouth with his thumb. "Well, now you're with somebody who knows how to do it right. No drama. No misery. Just you and me, riding Mort the Pony off into the sunset."

Jensen chuckles and eats more rice, still thoughtful. "I like the sound of that. Let's do that."

"Hi-ho, Mort, and away," says Misha.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> > _Butterflies turn into people  
>  when my boy walks down the street   
> Maybe he should be illegal   
> He just makes life too complete_  
> ♪ "When My Boy Walks Down the Street"—the Magnetic Fields
> 
> Day eleven: [Economics & Work](http://community.livejournal.com/14valentines/122752.html)


	12. Just Might Tell You Tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You fall in love in the breath your lover takes to whisper your name in the dark.

You fall in love in the time it takes for an affectionate hand to move slowly over your chest, in the breath your lover takes to whisper your name in the dark.

You lie awake all night in a pair of gentle arms and think, _This. This._

*

Misha wakes to the scent of coffee and a mouth sucking on his hip bone. He lies there a moment, blinking and confused, and then -- oh, yes, it's Sunday morning, their one sure day off, and Jensen stayed the night.

Jensen stayed.

Of course, he's done this before, but so few times that it still makes Misha smile as he tilts his head back and glimpses the rising sun (sun in the sky, you know how I feel, birds flyin' high, you know how I feel) through the window. He gives a quiet moan.

Jensen lifts his head. He's tossed away the bedding and both of them are stretched out naked on the bed, as bars of sunlight shine over them through the parted curtains. He grins at Misha, that filthy, promising smile that Misha knows means only good things are to come. "You're awake."

"I am." Misha's voice is rough with sleep. He rubs his hand over Jensen's shoulder and into his hair.

"Good. I don't want you to sleep through this." He kisses Misha's hip and then slides his tongue over Misha's cock. Misha shudders, aroused and still half-asleep, and his hips take up a slow rhythm as Jensen sucks him. He knows Jensen will get him there, particularly as Jensen slides slick fingers inside him that slowly twist and prod, finding the places that make Misha's legs shake.

He comes as easily as the sun coming up, Jensen's mouth red and soft around his cock, and he runs a fond hand through Jensen's hair once he feels he can without his hand shaking. He'd hate to poke Jensen in the eye after that lovely wakeup.

Jensen kisses up his body and finally kisses his mouth, tasting of salt and skin and heat, and Misha wraps himself around Jensen and tumbles them over.  Jensen goes willingly, pliant as Misha traps him between his knees. Misha touches Jensen's face, kisses him until Jensen is trembling under him and tracing his fingertips over Misha's back, and then reaches over him to grab a condom from the nightstand. Jensen pushes his cock against Misha's thigh in a way that makes Misha shiver, and his chest heaves a little harder as he watches Misha smooth the condom down his cock.

"Again? So soon?"

Misha nods and kisses him. "Want it -- want you -- so much."

"You're the boss," Jensen murmurs, and lines them up, fingers sure on Misha's hips. He pushes into Misha slowly like he's afraid of causing too much pain, and Misha shuts his eyes and groans as Jensen opens him. He'll feel it into next week but he doesn't care, he's so greedy for Jensen's body he wants to feel Jensen even when he isn't there.

He rocks on top of Jensen until Jensen wraps his hands around Misha's thighs and pins him in place. Misha watches in fascination as Jensen's eyes grow wide and his teeth sink into his lip as if he means to bite through it, and his skin is flushed and shiny with perspiration that Misha just wants to taste, and his hips snap and he's shouting and Misha holds Jensen's face and shivers a little himself, and his eyes never leave Jensen's.

They stare at each other, panting. Jensen blinks a few times and licks his lips. "I made coffee."

"Coffee," Misha says and lets himself collapse onto Jensen's chest. He smiles when Jensen kisses his hair and sweeps it back from his face, when Jensen holds him close and even cradles Misha's foot with his foot.

"Misha," he says finally, softly, and Misha stirs enough to let him know he's awake.  "Misha, I -- you should stay."

"Not moving," Misha mumbles, still enjoying the little shocks and sparks his nerves are making under his skin.

Jensen sighs and rubs Misha's ear between his forefinger and thumb, and Misha doesn't move except to breathe.

*

You fall in love with a pair of blue eyes (the bluest eyes you've ever seen) and realize only later that what you love is not the blue but the lines around them, the mouth beneath them, the playfulness within them.

*

The stereo is playing Nina Simone and they're eating toast and coffee when Jensen begins, "See, the thing is," as if they were having a different conversation.

"What thing?" Misha says, watching him. He loves watching Jensen. He loves the way the muscles of Jensen's throat moves when he swallows. He loves how Jensen licks melted honey butter from his thumb. He loves the way the heat of the coffee makes Jensen's lips a little redder.

"The thing about us. The thing I don't get about us."

Misha puts his coffee cup down. "What's to get?"

"Do you still want me?" Jensen says quietly, and Misha holds of Jensen's face between his hands and kisses him as sweetly as he knows how.

"Yes," he says simply, looking into Jensen's eyes, and he can't be any more sincere than he is right now.

"'Cause," Jensen says, "I mean, you're always flitting to the next new thing that catches your eye, and now that we've done it I've thought maybe you'd lose interest and I thought I'd be okay with that but … I'm not." He looks at Misha helplessly. "I don't know what you see in me, and don't say my eyes or my body because that's what everybody says and you're not everybody."

Misha touches Jensen's face. It's hard not to love this face, but love isn't found only in the space between eyebrows or the cut of a cheekbone or the curve of a lower lip. He says, "You're still Jensen. You'll always be Jensen. You'll always be exactly who you are, this honest, sweet, giving, super-talented guy, and no amount of perfect eyelashes or poetic mouths will change that. You are who you are, and that's what I love. That's what I've always loved."

Jensen's eyes flit from pupil to pupil, and then he nods and pushes his cheek into Misha's palm. "You should stay."

"I will." He leaves his hands cradling Jensen's face. Jensen needs to be touched tenderly right now, and he's not going to deny Jensen anything.  "I'm here until we finish shooting the season, and we'll be back next season."

"No -- yeah -- I know." He sighs. "I'm up for a movie. A superhero movie. And if I get the movie that'll mean traveling around all summer. The shoot is scheduled for eight weeks, and I'll just have, like, a week before I have to come back to Vancouver."

"I hope you get it," says Misha, still not quite understanding what he's getting at. "It could do great things for you."

"I'll miss you," Jensen says, and swallows hard. "I miss you already, thinking about it. It's the kind of opportunity I've wanted for years, and now I --"

"Jensen, stop," Misha says and takes his hands away. "I don't want to change your life that way. If they offer you the part and you want it, then take it. I'll be here when you're done."

"But, Misha --"

"A leaf on the river, Jen. Even if that river takes us apart for a while, we'll be back together eventually."

Jensen rolls his eyes and picks up his coffee cup again. "I knew you'd say something like that."

"Our story's not over yet. As far as I'm concerned, it's just beginning." He pats Jensen's back and rises from the table. "If you'll play me a song or two I'll clean up the kitchen."

"Always," Jensen says, and then adds, more softly and seriously, "I mean that. Always."

Misha kisses Jensen's forehead, and then gathers the used dishes and takes them to the sink, and as he washes up Jensen plays him songs with his favorite chords.

*

You fall in love with a poet, a madman, a storyteller, someone who dances in the kitchen when you sing and rubs the back of your neck to put you to sleep. What you give and what you take may never be equal, but love is not about keeping score. You give and you accept what you're given, and you never take the measure of either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> > _Never took piano lessons  
>  But baby you're a grand  
> And I will learn to play the good notes  
> And tune you up the best I can_  
> ♪ "Might Say It Tonight"—the Scissor Sisters
> 
> The song Misha thinks of is "Feelin' Good" by Nina Simone.
> 
> Day twelve: [Education](http://community.livejournal.com/14valentines/123177.html)


	13. No Place Else I Could Be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He doesn't stop until he's got Jensen wrapped in his arms and his face buried in Jensen's neck.

It's a long summer, though hardly a boring one. Jensen shoots his movie, Misha performs in one and produces another (and writes two more, and writes short stories that he emails to Jensen, and poetry that he doesn't show anyone just yet) and gives interviews about what to expect in season six (since Jensen is in Romania, Hawaii, or New Zealand on any given day and Jared is honeymooning).

A great many questions are about Dean and Castiel's new relationship. The network decided to air the kiss, and as Misha knew would happen, fandom exploded, religious groups denounced the show, and the debate was engaged about whether a formerly straight man could "turn gay."

Misha says in interviews if people believed a gay man could turn straight, why not the other way around? If he feels he should give a serious answer (and he usually does), he adds he doesn't think Dean is completely straight, and the kiss is proof. "And Castiel doesn't understand gender," he says. "He just knows he loves Dean."

A church tries to picket the show, but since they haven't started shooting yet, the half-dozen protesters end up milling around in front of empty production trailers for half an hour before they trudge off to their next destination.

Misha and Jensen's own relationship is less public and less discussed. In interviews Misha admits to dating someone, as does Jensen, though they don't say each other's names. "Too much of art imitating life," Misha says to Jensen. "Let Cas and Dean take the heat."

The relationship between angel and hunter will be a thread, not a focus, they're told. Whether Jensen will get his love scene or not is still under debate, but there will be acknowledgements, no matter how small. Dean needs to be brought away from the abyss he looked into in the season finale, and he will have both fraternal and romantic love to pull him back.

Misha is looking forward to it. He's looking forward to Jensen coming back so they can do more than talk on the phone and write long, rambling emails. He wants to hold Jensen again -- he wants to whisper stories in his ear, and feel Jensen fall asleep in his arms.

*

Misha is at his house in Los Angeles, getting ready to shut it up until he comes home for the winter hiatus, when a taxi pulls up in front. Misha drops the papers he's sorting and the folders he's sorting them into; he goes straight down his front walk as Jensen climbs out of the cab and gets his luggage from the trunk. He doesn't stop until he's got Jensen wrapped in his arms and his face buried in Jensen's neck. Jensen wraps him up just as tight, kisses the side of his face, whispers, "Hi. Hi, darlin'."

He gets Jensen inside eventually and moves boxes of books and a half-filled suitcase off the bed so Jensen can relax. He's not at all surprised that Jensen pulls him down too, and he sprawls over Jensen and kisses him _Hello_ and _I missed you_ and _I'm so glad you're here_.

*

It's wrong to say they've had their fill of each other, but they're both satisfied enough to talk, lounging on Misha's bed. "Did you get the script for the premiere?" Misha says, tracing the solid line of Jensen's jaw with a fingertip. "Have you had a chance to read it yet?"

"I did. I get to kiss you again." He blinks slowly, eyes like a cummings poem, like big love-crumbs. "Still no word on a love scene, though."

"We'll just have to leave it to the imagination." Misha touches Jensen's throat, lets his fingers rest in the hollow at the base. "I thought you were going to see your family before you came back to L.A."

"I am, but I changed my plans a little. Come with me."

Misha stops touching him and looks up to meet his eyes. "Come with you?"

"Yeah. I thought I'd drive, and you should come with me. Let's take a road trip together."

"You want me to meet your family," Misha says, because that's the important part of this proposition.

"Yes. I've met your mom."

"She's nomadic and likes Vancouver," Misha says. "You want me to meet your parents."

"Yes," Jensen says, patient. "I've told them about you."

"In detail?"

"In enough detail. I told them you're odd," he smiles as Misha snorts, "and wonderful, and that I like who I am with you. So they want to meet you."

Misha smiles slowly. "Okay. Are you sure about the road trip part?"

"I think the road trip part is vital to the whole plan." He pauses. "I need to stretch my legs a little before we go back to Vancouver. Do you know what I mean?"

"I don't know," Misha says truthfully, "but if you really want to stretch you should come to India with me sometime."

"I don't want to drive across India this week," Jensen says dryly. "I want to see my own country a little more first. Dean Winchester has seen every corner of the US and I haven't. I want to rectify that. And I want to see it with you."

"We'll see the desert, mostly," Misha says. "An area completely unlike Vancouver."

"Good. It'll be something new. So are you coming with me? Please?"

"To the ends of the Earth," says Misha and kisses Jensen. "Or at least to the end of the southwest."

*

They can't leave right away: Misha needs to finish packing and preparing to ship some boxes to Vancouver. But that means with the new plan he'll simply do it faster and sooner, and it also that means Jensen will stay with him until they're ready to leave. When Misha lies down in his bed that night Jensen is waiting for him, bare skinned on his sheets and smelling of soap. Misha gathers him close and they kiss each other slowly for a while.

When Misha pulls away Jensen is grinning. "Your house," he says softly. "Your bed."

"You can call it home if you want to."

Jensen shakes his head, still smiling. "Maybe. You know, with Jared and Gen newlywedding all over the place I'm not sure I should stay with them like we planned. I don't imagine it'll be much different from before, but  ..."

"If you want to live with me, just say so," Misha says, amused.

"I don't want you to get sick of me, either."

"Jensen," Misha groans and shoves his head affectionately. Jensen chuckles and catches hold of Misha's hand, so Misha runs his thumb over Jensen's palm. "Try to trust me, please. I am not going to get sick of you. And I'd love to live with you -- it would settle the question of 'your place or mine' for good."

"And since we usually ended up at yours anyway," Jensen says, and he lifts Misha's hand to his mouth and kisses the back. "We're really doing this, aren't we?" he says quietly. "We're really together."

"Yeah," Misha says and pulls Jensen to him again. He kisses Jensen's shoulder and Jensen gets comfortable against him. "Now," Misha begins softly, lips against Jensen's ear, "when we last left Mort the pony he had just arrived at the court of the sultan of Agracadabreca."

Jensen chuckles again and breathes more slowly as Misha whispers the story to him. When they kiss good night, Jensen murmurs sleepily, "I really like it here. I really … like it with you."

Misha kisses him again and says, "I like it with you too, sweetheart. Good night. I love you."

"Love you," Jensen murmurs, his hand on the back of Misha's neck, and Misha falls asleep smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> > _I like where you sleep,  
>  When you sleep next to me.  
> I like where you sleep... here_  
> ♪ "Here In Your Arms"— Hellogoodbye
> 
> Day thirteen: [Arts & Entertainment](http://community.livejournal.com/14valentines/123460.html)


	14. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "If you were telling our story, how would you end it?"

Jensen's parents don't quite know what to make of Misha, but Misha is used to that. They are bemused by the stories, by Mort the Pony's place of honor in the back seat of Misha's car (safely seatbelted -- he also holds the maps, though he's a terrible navigator), by the fact that Misha brought a backpack full of books with him but only one pair of shoes.  They think Misha's constant scribbling is a journal and exchange a _look_ when he tells them he's writing fairy tales. They put Misha into a guest room, but Jensen ends up in Misha's bed most mornings anyway, holding Misha's hand and snoring on top of the covers.

It's not uncomfortable, though, it's just people who love Jensen trying to look out for him; and given the people Jensen has brought home before, Misha understands. It's the same thing that happened on set, only there's no Jared to ask his intentions: there's just Jensen's mom gently quizzing Misha about what he's reading and what he's writing and what he did before he started acting, and Jensen's dad asking everything from what countries Misha has visited to what kind of a name is Misha?

Misha doesn't mind. He rattles off his previous professions. He tells the story behind his name and assures them that yes, it's his actual, parent-bestowed name. He shows them pictures from Singapore and England and Morocco, and tells them the places he wants Jensen to see.  He tells them about his own parents and his gypsy childhood, and Jensen's mother is more sympathetic after that, patting his shoulder and giving him an extra helping at dinner.

"I'm sorry about the rough time they're giving you," Jensen says the night before they're due to leave. "I didn't think they'd be quite so … careful."

"It's not so bad," Misha says. They're on the back porch, looking out over the back lawn that slopes down to a little wild area, a dry creek bed lined with oak trees and sandstone boulders. Jensen sits on the step above and Misha sits on the step below, between Jensen's legs. They share a cigarette -- Jensen's mother prefers to keep the smoke outside -- and pass it back and forth as they listen to the cicadas buzzing in the trees. The best part about it is Misha can lean back against Jensen's chest and feel him breathing, when he gets bored of holding Jensen's ankle, just below the hem of his jeans. "They're just protecting you."

"You're the last person I need protection from," Jensen murmurs and wraps an arm around Misha's shoulders. Misha weaves their fingers together and leans back against Jensen again, and watches the ember of the cigarette burn in the near-dark.

*

In the morning, once the car is packed and Mort the Pony is perched on the dashboard, Misha thanks Jensen's mother for hosting them and she says, "You take care of him, now. He's trusting, and that gets him into trouble sometimes."

"I will," Misha says, and he figures that's a pretty high compliment, really.

*

It's a long drive from Texas to Canada, made longer by the fact that they take detours whenever possible to see bits of Americana when it arises. They have GPS and Google maps to help, but more and more they put technology aside and just drive, windows down, music on, hands clasped over the gear shift.

They visit farmer's markets and roadside attractions. They stay in motels that inspired Supernatural's set dressers, little places with cabins shaped like concrete tipis or that rent by the hour and have vibrating beds and porn on demand.

A few times, people say, "Aren't you --?" to Jensen but he just smiles and says, "I get that all the time." He grew out his hair for the movie and lets his beard grow for the road trip, and looks scruffy and rakish. But still beautiful. Misha thinks it wouldn't matter if Jensen grew a beard to his navel and stopped bathing, he would still be the handsomest man alive.

They make love in these ratty motel rooms, in truck stops with thin walls and thinner sheets, in the car a time or two when the road is deserted enough and they don't want to wait another two hundred miles to the next stop.

Misha writes down interesting names of towns and takes pictures of memorial plaques. He crushes leaves between the pages of his books, hoping they'll still smell spicy and loamy when he rediscovers them. Jensen talks to the people they meet in roadside restaurants and gift shops, asking about the local stories, the things that people like best about living here. A time or two he even gives an alias from the show as his name and tells them he's writing a book, and Misha just rolls his eyes and goes back to deciding if he wants a chunk of white crystal on a leather cord or a snow globe with the town's name painted on the bottom as a souvenir.

*

The desert gives way to the plains, then the mountains. Soon there's a smell in the air, clean and cold giving way to tar and exhaust, and they pull over a few miles before the outskirts of Seattle, to enjoy northwestern rain forests one more time. They walk away from the car down among the trees, which smell of pine and rain, and hold hands to catch each other if they slip on the slick needles.

Jensen says, his voice soft, "Do you think it's going to get harder or easier from here on out?"

"For you and me? I don't know. I figure it'll be the same as it is for everyone else. Sometimes it'll be easy and sometimes it'll be hard, sometimes we'll fight, sometimes we'll love each other so much we don't know what to do with it …"

"But, if you were telling our story, how would you end it?"

"Our story," Misha says, smiling, and thinks he's told their story over and over but never really been happy with how any of the versions have ended. "I'd want to say we live happily ever after, but we won't know until we get there."

Jensen nods and stops walking. He pulls Misha to him and kisses him, holding Misha's face in his palm. Misha clutches his hand and kisses him back, and tastes his lips when Jensen pulls away. Jensen leans their foreheads together, and when he speaks his voice is still soft, but certain.

"I think we'll get there."

They kiss again, and then climb back up to the road.

End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> > _and I was talking to you  
>  and I knew then it would be  
> a life long thing_  
> ♪ "A Sort of Fairy Tale"— Tori Amos
> 
> Day 14: [International](http://community.livejournal.com/14valentines/124353.html)


End file.
